


Something To Give In Return

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Other Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Things get settled. Reed/m. (04/21/2004)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 3.15 "Harbinger," general Season 3.  
  
This is the last story in this series. That may change depending on what happens in the next few episodes, but at the moment this seems the most logical conclusion. I also want to pimp Gigi's fabulous story "Changes" here, because as far as I'm concerned, her take on Major John Matthew Hayes couldn't be more perfect if she'd written his character bible herself. I was thinking of her when I wrote this. Finally, a super-big Monkey Snog to all those wonderful ListSibs who have stuck with me through all of these fics! I know it hasn't been fun, exactly ('cause I'm just an angsty kind o' Primate), and I appreciate your feedback more than I can say.  
  
Beta: Thank you, Listmom!  


* * *

In the end, it was finding Trip unconscious in engineering that made Malcolm Reed realize Major Hayes wasn't actually interested in his job.

It helped, of course, to see that the Major's aim was no better than his in a true combat situation, or that Matthew had obviously almost no knowledge of warp engines. Malcolm was adult enough to admit that to himself; to recognize the petulant delight he'd taken in Matthew's failings. But the real revelation, the epiphany, came when they found Trip on the floor and Malcolm had been certain the commander was dead.

Because he'd seen Trip, and suddenly he wasn't angry anymore. All the simmering rage he'd felt for Matthew, all the righteous certainty that the Major wanted to take his position—damn it, take his _life_ away from him—which had been festering like a fever for days, for weeks, was suddenly gone. Just like that. It was gone.

And Malcolm realized he'd never really been angry at Matthew at all. He'd been angry at Trip, all that time.

In fact, he decided—as he enjoyed a certain vicious pleasure in saving the ship at the expense of Trip's precious engine—he was still angry at Trip: Angry that Trip had left him; angry for the intimacy he shared with T'Pol, which Malcolm could never be a part of; angry for his relationship with Amanda Cole, whatever kind of relationship it was; angry at Trip for going on, for being all right without him; for sharing banter and coffee and lunch with Malcolm as if everything was fine, as if they'd never been more than friends. When they had been so much more than friends.

But the last time he had felt angry at Trip—real anger, simmering rage kind of anger—he'd stolen a scalpel from sick bay and almost killed him.

So. Some part of him had obviously decided he wasn't going to be angry at Trip. He was going to be angry at Matthew instead. Thinking he was going to lose one of the few things he valued in life to a squaddie was as good a reason as any.

It was shameful, humiliating, to be so unaware of his own motives, to have so completely lost sight of himself. He had created a baseless animosity, nursed this pathetic grudge for nothing, and all because he'd been too afraid to let himself be angry with the man who truly deserved it.

_Coward_ , he thought, while Jon berated the Major and him both for the fight he had caused. _Bleeding, stupid coward_. Jon wouldn't even let him take the blame.

* * *

Two days and he was still pissing blood, even after Phlox's treatment. And his left side hurt like hell.

Matthew Hayes turned off the tap, then slowly pulled himself upright before letting out a whoosh of air. Bending even slightly off-center was enough to cause shooting pain in his side, and he had to give himself a minute before it went back to just plain throbbing again. He opened the medicine cabinet above the sink, eyeing the painkillers Phlox had given him. He actually considered taking them this time—it would make it easier to sleep, after all—before shutting it again with a quick, final shake of his head. The pain meds would make him groggy, and he didn't want that. He had to be sharp if something happened. He'd just use the cold pack again.

At least he'd given as good as he got, if not more than. A detached retina trumped a bruised kidney, he figured, though if anything it seemed having only one good eye had improved the little bastard's aim. Matthew's mouth twitched in a mix of pain and humor as he limped over to the couch, swiping the cold pack off his desk as he went. At least he'd been able to go collapse in his cabin after Archer had chewed them out; Malcolm had been forced back to sickbay to get his eye operated on.

Matthew sat down heavily, wincing badly as a new flare of agony burst up his side. Maybe Malcolm had it better after all—there was no way he was in this kind of pain.

Well, except that getting kicked in the head could have blinded him, or worse. It wasn't that Matthew felt guilty about that, not really. It was more that he felt damn stupid for letting himself get dragged down to that level in the first place. He should have backed off as soon as Malcolm made it clear he wanted a brawl rather than sparring practice. Been the better man. Instead, Matthew had tried to take Malcolm's head off with his foot.

Matthew snapped the pack back and forth a few times to get it working, then lifted his shirt and pressed it over the large purple blot on his lower back. He gave a grateful sigh as he felt the pack start cooling the skin. He leaned back, tilting his head until it touched the wall and closed his eyes. Since he was being honest, he might as well admit he'd known all along that the lieutenant was dropping the gloves when he'd suggested 'sparring.' He'd wanted the opportunity to beat Malcolm to a pulp, to finally give some payback for all the weeks of frustration. "Good thinking, John," he muttered to himself. "Worked out real well." He always used his first name when he'd done something particularly stupid. It made it sound like his dad was doing the scolding, and it was good to remember how disappointed John Hayes Senior would have been with that kind of shit.

He could only hope his aching kidney would be enough of a reminder the next time he was tempted to let his ego get the better of him. Because god knew there would be a next time—unless he got lucky and Malcolm accidentally fell out an airlock or something.

Matthew chuckled at that, imagining the adroit looey somehow taking a header into space, then he just sat there with his eyes closed, breathing his tension out and relishing the slow numbing of the pain.

His door chimed. _Crap_. God, he hoped it wasn't Snipe again. He briefly considered not responding, then decided that was unprofessional. But he'd be damned if he was getting up to answer the door. "Enter," he called, hoping he sounded gruff enough to send whomever it was packing.

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was the one who walked into the room—probably the single last person on the entire ship Matthew would have expected to see. For sure the very last person he wanted to.

"Something I can do for you, Lieutenant?" Matthew heaved himself forward with an effort, figuring he should at least look like he was remotely interested in whatever the damn fleeter had to tell him. It took most of his self-control to not just tell him to fuck off. The rest of his self-control was spent not showing how much pain he was in.

"Is your kidney bothering you, Major?" So much for that. "I could come back later, if you'd prefer."

Matthew blinked at him. Malcolm was being...polite. Contrite, even, like he was unhappy about Matthew being in pain.

"I'm fine," Matthew said automatically. "I'm a little tired, though," he added, pointedly enough that he was sure Malcolm would get the hint. "So if you wouldn't mind...?"

"Of course," Malcolm said quickly. He came further into the room, and Matthew realized he had been carrying something behind his back: a bottle of scotch. "It's a peace offering, of sorts," Malcolm explained. He even smiled, and it was nervous, not mocking.

Matthew blinked again, suddenly wondering if he hadn't accidentally taken some of Phlox's painkillers. Maybe he was hallucinating all this. It couldn't feel any more bizarre. "A peace offering."

"Yes," Malcolm nodded. He licked his lips. He was definitely nervous. He gestured wordlessly at Matthew's desk chair, and Matthew gave a quick nod. Malcolm put the bottle on the desk, then sat down, resting his forearms on his thighs. He looked at the floor for a second, while Matthew waited in quiet amazement. "I came to apologize," he said at last. "Laying into you like that the other evening—it was completely unprofessional.

"That's not all, though." He paused, pursed his lips as if he didn't like what he was about to say. "I...also realized that I've been treating you unfairly, wrongfully accusing you of trying to undermine me when I've been the one undermining you. You're right. I haven't been letting you do you job."

He smiled again. Not nervous this time, but strangely sad. "I want you to know I'm sorry, for making your job harder than it had to be. And that it's not going to happen anymore."

The silence settled, Matthew looking at Malcolm and Malcolm looking at some point near his head on the wall. _I should say something_ , Matthew thought, and 'who are you and what have you done with Lieutenant Reed?' probably wasn't it. Malcolm started shifting in the chair, looking like he was about to leave. _At least thank him for the scotch, John_. No point in being rude when he'd apparently just won the moral victory, even if he had no idea what had brought this apology on. But something entirely different came out of his mouth.

"It takes two to tango, Lieutenant."

Malcolm's eyebrows went up. He looked a little shocked. "I beg your pardon?"

Matthew waved his hand. "It's a phrase my mom used to say all the time. I mean..." He ran his fingers through his hair, wondering why this suddenly felt so awkward. It wasn't like he was telling the looey something he didn't already know, right? "I didn't exactly go out of my way to make friends. You don't have the monopoly on dicking people around here."

"I see." Malcolm relaxed a little, and his mouth quirked in that annoying smirk of his. "Like when you went to the captain about combat training?"

Matthew nodded. "Yeah. I knew he'd probably agree, but you wouldn't." And he'd known it would really piss Malcolm off, too, which had been nice.

Malcolm's smile became apologetic. "You should have been able to come to me."

Matthew shrugged. "Maybe." His gaze fell on the bottle on his desk—he'd pretty much forgotten about it. "You mind drinking scotch out of a mug?"

Malcolm looked absolutely shocked at that, and for a second Matthew thought he'd offended his pommy sensibilities, until Malcolm grinned, and Matthew realized that he just hadn't expected the offer. It occurred to him that he'd never seen the lieutenant smile before—not a genuine smile, anyway. It made him look all of nineteen. "Not at all, Major." Malcolm stood, looking around the room. "Where are they?"

"Bathroom," Matthew said. "Over the sink." He was quietly grateful that he hadn't been expected to get up to get them. Malcolm could be down right courteous when he wanted, apparently.

Matthew could see into the bathroom from the couch, and he saw Malcolm pause when he opened the medicine cabinet and noticed the hypo, before he grabbed the two metal mugs on the shelf above it.

Malcolm didn't speak again until after he'd uncapped the bottle. "I shouldn't have hit you so hard," he said quietly. He kept his eyes studiously on the task of pouring the alcohol into the first mug.

"Don't worry about it," Matthew said, meaning it. "Besides, I almost flattened you afterwards, didn't I?"

"True." Malcolm smiled ruefully as he brought one of the mugs over and handed it to him. "That was one hell of a kick." He didn't go back to the desk, just standing next to the couch as he took a sip. He closed his eyes and sighed as he swallowed. "Lovely."

"Thanks." Matthew smirked just as ruefully into his drink. It smelled peaty and sharp—this was good stuff. He wondered where Malcolm had gotten it. "About that..."

This time it was Malcolm with the dismissive wave. "It takes two to tango, remember?"

"Yeah. Okay." Matthew took a sip, grimacing at the burn. He tipped the cup at Malcolm in a kind of toast. "Thanks." He meant it for a lot more than just the scotch, but Malcolm seemed to get that.

"You're welcome."

There was another silence then, as both men sipped from their mugs. But this time the quiet was easy, companionable. Matthew realized he could get to like it.

"You know lieutenant," he said after another drink. Damn, but the scotch really was good. "I couldn't do your job even if I wanted it. I don't have the training. That thing you did, with the engines..." Matthew shook his head, remembering it. "I barely knew where the hell that T-valve was. You impressed the hell out of me with that."

Malcolm actually blushed. He took another pull at his mug, a long one. "Well, the Commander wasn't so impressed. I was half expecting him to accuse me of sabotage, the way he went on about it."

Matthew snorted. It figured Commander Chuck would bitch. They'd only saved his ass, after all. "Yeah, well, maybe next time he should fucking duck, then, if he doesn't like how you pick up the slack."

Oops. Shouldn't have insulted his buddy. Malcolm's sudden, sharp glance in his direction said as much. He'd meant what he'd said as a kind of compliment, though it seemed to have backfired. "Sorry," he muttered as he took another sip.

"Quite all right," Malcolm said quietly. But some sort of shadow passed over the lieutenant's face, and he looked so sad Matthew felt his eyes widening, wondering what the hell had just happened. "Commander Tucker is an exceptional engineer," Malcolm said then, in relation to almost nothing. He was staring down into his mug like the scotch would evaporate if he moved his eyes.

"I'm sure he is," Matthew said, more to agree than anything. Then he thought of something and grinned. "Amanda certainly seems to think he's exceptional—though maybe not for engineering."

He'd honestly thought that Malcolm would laugh at that, or at least smile. But instead Malcolm _flinched_. It was almost imperceptible, but Matthew still saw it. Like the words had physically hurt him.

More than buddies, then. At least they had been. "I'm sorry," Matthew said, almost surprised at how much he meant it. He took another drink, tipping the mug back until he'd drained it. He hadn't had the first clue.

"Thank you," Malcolm whispered. He didn't look up.

Matthew leaned back. He still had to move carefully, though thanks to the cold pack—and probably the scotch—his side barely twinged. He kept the mug in his hand, the metal warm now from his skin. "Malcolm—"

"Don't, Major." Malcolm said. He looked up, finally, giving a pathetic little twitch that might have been a smile. "There's no need."

"Okay." He could take a hint. He licked his lips. "You can call me Matthew already, Malcolm."

Malcolm twitched his smile at him again. "Would you care for more scotch? Matthew?"

"Better not," Matthew said regretfully. He nodded his thanks when Malcolm took his mug and put it on the desk with the one he'd been using. He watched the deliberate care the lieutenant used in placing the mugs, then re-capping the bottle. Somehow, it showed his pain more tellingly than if he'd been openly weeping. It was like looking at a gaping wound.

Matthew tapped his fingers on his leg, coming to a decision.

"You know, Malcolm," he said. He tried to sound casual, like this had just come to him out of nowhere. He'd probably regret it, but what the hell. "Kemper's one hell of a guy. You could do a lot worse."

Malcolm whirled around so fast Matthew almost ducked. So many expressions crossed his face—fury, sorrow, confusion, want, shock—that Matthew was half expecting the poor bastard's head would explode. He decided to go with the easiest one to deal with. "I've got eyes," he said simply, shrugging. He smiled wistfully. "All I can tell you—if someone looked at me like that, I'd feel like the luckiest guy in the world." Or on the ship. Whatever.

Malcolm looked stunned. Obviously he'd been too focused on being pissy to notice Josh during the combat training sessions. But Matthew had. The sergeant's eyes were so full of longing that it was almost painful to look at.

Or maybe Malcolm just couldn't believe that a MACO grunt would twig to something like that, or care, or have the balls to tell him. Matthew had to admit he was enjoying the reaction.

"I—I'll keep that in mind," Malcolm managed finally. He looked at a complete loss as to what else to say.

Matthew decided to take pity on him. "I appreciate your coming by, Lieutenant," he said seriously. It felt appropriate to use Malcolm's title, a sign of respect.

"You're welcome," Malcolm said, sounding like he was on automatic pilot. He was still a little wild-eyed. "Goodnight, Major."

"Goodnight," Matthew echoed, but he doubted Malcolm even heard him. The lieutenant couldn't have left faster if the room was on fire.

* * *

Matthew was right. Joshua really did spend a lot of time watching him.

Malcolm snapped his gaze away before the sergeant noticed, bringing his entire attention back to the latest blocks the major was teaching them—how to defend against kicks. Malcolm hadn't missed the sly grin Matthew had shot his way when he'd announced what they'd be doing. Malcolm had smirked back at him.

Funny how he'd never considered that the major might have a sense of humor.

Matthew wasn't doing the demonstration himself, since his kidney was still hurting him. Instead, Sergeant Kemper and Private Rosenfeld were the ones circling each other, obediently attacking when Matthew told them which moves to use. Jacob looked like he would have been much happier with more shooting practice instead, though he was holding his own.

Joshua had almost taken hits twice, because he'd glanced at Malcolm. Malcolm was certain Matthew had noticed, but the major never said a thing.

When they were told to break off into partners, Trip all but bounded over to Amanda Cole. Malcolm turned away from them, nodding at the first MACO he saw and walking to the far corner of the room.

It hurt. It still hurt. And he was still angry. But it hurt less, he realized, at least a little. And the anger, well, he could live with it. He knew it was there, now, but he could shove it away, put it aside. Trip was still his friend.

And Trip was grinning, laughing with Amanda about something, then saying something to Hoshi and Travis that made them laugh as well. Malcolm hadn't seen Trip that happy in months. And how could he begrudge him that?

He just wished he could be the one, making Trip happy again. Maybe he always would.

But he still watched Joshua when he had the chance.

"Okay, that's good," Matthew called out after several minutes, and everyone went obediently to stand by the wall. "Lieutenant Reed's going to be teaching this one—it's a body throw, and very effective. Apparently it's a Klingon move that he picked up." Matthew's demeanor was completely serious, but Malcolm was sure he saw the gleam in his eye when Matthew looked at him. "Lieutenant?"

"Major." Malcolm nodded equally seriously before he stepped out of the line, but he couldn't help the brief grin he gave Matthew when he passed him. God help him, but he was going to end up liking the man.

"I'll need a volunteer," he said, as soon as he was facing the group.

Trip was the first one to hold up his hand. "Sure," he drawled easily, smiling.

Joshua stepped forward a second later. "I'll do it, sir."

Malcolm blinked in shock, though he kept his expression carefully neutral. He hadn't expected that at all, would never have called for volunteers if he'd thought one of the Starfleet crew would offer. He'd have bet his life Trip wouldn't. Sparring was tactile—intimate. And Trip hadn't touched him since the night he'd needed Malcolm to tell him his name.

Malcolm wanted to touch Trip again, very badly. But he looked at the commander's face, and though it was open, and warm, there was nothing else there, nothing more than that. Trip was just being a friend, just being kind. There was no deeper importance in it. It didn't mean anything.

But Joshua...

All this passed in the space of a second, and Malcolm made his choice. "Sergeant," Malcolm nodded at Joshua. "Thank you, Commander," he said to Trip.

Trip just shrugged, still smiling. "Maybe next time."

"I think he likes Josh better, Commander," Travis said in a stage whisper, and everyone laughed.

"Please pay attention," Malcolm said mildly. "All right," he began instructing. "This throw is especially useful against larger opponents." He turned to Joshua, who was silently waiting. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt," he said softly to him.

"That's okay," Joshua said. He voice was just as quiet, and his smile was strangely sad. "I'm good with that."

* * *

The combat training had gone well tonight. He had worked really hard, collected a few more bruises; by rights Joshua knew he should be exhausted. He should want to sleep.

But he hadn't even changed out of his BDUs yet, and he felt...Twitchy was the only word he could think of. He was incredibly alert, even anxious, his body humming with adrenaline.

He tried to tell himself that it was nothing, that he was being stupid, but he couldn't. He couldn't manage it.

Malcolm had chosen him, when he volunteered for the demonstration. Not Trip, him. That had to mean something, didn't it? Something good?

Joshua sighed explosively, rubbing his face. He started at the strange texture, then realized he hadn't even taken off his padded gloves. He gave a small snort of self-disgust as he unstrapped them and tossed them onto the couch, not bothering to see if they hit. He couldn't keep on like this—he was going to lose his mind.

He put his hand on his chest, imagining that he could feel his heart. It was hammering, heavy as lead. And it was probably nothing. He was driving himself crazy for no reason at all.

The door chime sounded, and Joshua almost jumped out of his skin.

_Jesus Christ_! He had to take a second to smooth out his stuttered breathing. "Come in."

And Malcolm Reed walked in.

Joshua almost gasped. His heart sped up, so fast he wasn't sure how he could breathe enough to keep it beating. He couldn't speak. He couldn't say anything.

"Sergeant?" Malcolm's voice was tentative. "Are you all right?"

Joshua nodded dumbly. He managed to find his voice. "What can I help you with, sir?" He wanted to touch him, to kiss him, but he didn't move. Malcolm already knew how he felt, and Joshua already knew that Malcolm didn't feel the same.

Malcolm stepped closer to him. He was looking right into Joshua's eyes. "I've been doing a lot of thinking," he said. He swallowed. "About you."

Joshua just nodded again, watched as Malcolm took another step. He could touch him now, if he wanted to. He just had to reach out his arm. A new, clenching pain roared through him that might have been hope.

One more step, and they were so close that Joshua could feel the heat from Malcolm's body. Then Malcolm raised his hand and put it against the side of Joshua's neck. Malcolm's thumb was touching his cheek, moving back and forth in a slow, gentle caress.

"I've been thinking," Malcolm repeated. His ocean eyes were liquid and almost afraid. "And...I can't promise anything. Not yet. I wish I could, but—" He broke off again, took a breath. "But, I have something to give in return, now. I want to be with you."

Joshua felt his eyes going wide. He opened his mouth to speak, but then Malcolm leaned forward and kissed him. It was gentle and sweet, questioning. When Malcolm pulled back, Joshua almost followed him, wanting not to end it, but he forced himself to stay still.

"Do you mean it?" He asked. His voice was rough. Malcolm's hand was still warm against his neck. "This can't be pity," he said. "I won't—I won't put up with that."

"I mean it, Joshua," Malcolm said seriously. "I want this. I want you."

It was the first time he'd ever used Joshua's name.

"Thank you," Joshua breathed. Then he pulled Malcolm to him and kissed him back.

He kissed Malcolm deeply, concentrating on it. He tried to pour in everything he was feeling: wonder, desire, gratitude. He heard Malcolm's low growl in response, and smiled against his lips. Malcolm's hand moved from his neck, threading into the hair on the back of his head.

Malcolm pulled away, panting. Joshua could feel the warm puffs of it against his face. Malcolm's eyes were hooded and very dark blue. He trailed his hands down Joshua's sides, then yanked up the hem of his t-shirt. "I want to see you."

"Okay," Joshua whispered. He obediently took his shirt off, dropping it to the floor. His skin felt flushed, absolutely electric. Malcolm's eyes raked over his torso and he couldn't help blushing.

"God, you are so very beautiful," Malcolm said. And then he was kissing him again, almost ferocious. They were so close together now that Joshua could feel the press of Malcolm's erection against his own. He slid one hand up between them, groping for the zipper on Malcolm's uniform. Malcolm could feel what he was doing and stepped back, yanking his zipper down and shoving the sleeves off his shoulders. He unbuttoned his black shirt only enough to pull it over his head, following it with the blue shirt underneath.

"Thank you," Joshua said, though his voice sounded so husky he wasn't sure Malcolm could hear him. He knelt down and unzipped Malcolm's boots, then untied his own. By the time he was standing again, Malcolm was over by his bed, naked and waiting for him.

Joshua kicked his own pants and briefs off, leaving them where he stepped out of them. He went to Malcolm and they kissed again, explosively. Malcolm's hand wrapped around his cock and began gently tugging. Joshua grabbed Malcolm's shoulders, his knees going weak. He groaned into Malcolm's mouth, then pulled his head back. "Stop," he gasped. "God, I'll come. Just like this."

He heard Malcolm's small chuckle, then let himself be guided until he was sitting on his bed. Malcolm was smiling tenderly down at him, though his eyes were burning. Malcolm kissed his mouth in one quick peck, then dropped to his knees in front of him, his hands pads of heat on Joshua's thighs.

Malcolm took Joshua's cock into his mouth, and Joshua swallowed a howl as pleasure flooded him in hot waves. He fell back, suddenly boneless, barely noticing when his head hit the wall behind him. All he could feel was the wet warmth surrounding him and slowly moving, the sweet pressure of lips and the slight, tingling scrape of teeth, Malcolm's tongue moving across his slit, circling the head of his cock. One of Malcolm's hands moved around the curve of his leg, then began gently fondling his balls. Joshua had squeezed his eyes shut, and he groped out blindly until he touched Malcolm's head, then buried his fingers in the thick hair. He moaned and heard Malcolm's hum of approval, then the suction around his cock increased, the movement speeding up. Malcolm moved his hand to the base of Joshua's cock, and began sliding his fingers up and down, in counterpoint to what his mouth was doing.

Joshua cried out loudly as he came, his entire body shaking. Malcolm's lips lifted away, but his hand kept moving until Joshua was spent. He opened his eyes, to see Malcolm smiling as he gazed back at him. Malcolm wiped his mouth with the side of his hand.

"Wow," Joshua said sleepily. Malcolm laughed.

"C'mere." Joshua pulled himself around until he was lying properly on the small cot. He moved as far back as he could against the wall, then patted the mattress.

Malcolm lay down facing him, and Joshua grinned. "Your turn." Malcolm was still incredibly hard—Joshua could feel the heaviness of it pressing against his thigh.

He kissed Malcolm deeply, dropping his hand to his cock. He began playing, exploring, gently running the pad of his thumb over the head, pressing against the slit, then tracing the thick vein along the base. Malcolm growled again, thrusting into Joshua's hand.

Joshua let Malcolm set the rhythm, making a fist around Malcolm's cock and letting Malcolm fuck his hand. He squeezed a little harder, and got another growl as a response. He chuckled when he moved his head to take a breath, then kissed Malcolm again.

Malcolm turned suddenly, so that only their temples were touching. His mouth was still open, breathing hard. His eyes were clenched shut, almost as if he were in pain. He thrust twice more then came violently, his hips jerking as he climaxed.

"Bloody hell," Malcolm whispered hoarsely. "'Wow,' indeed."

"You're welcome," Joshua laughed. He ran his palm over Malcolm's chest, just enjoying the feel of him, of having him so close. He kissed him, languidly, tasting himself on Malcolm's tongue. Malcolm began carding his hair, stroking with his fingers. When Joshua pulled back, their faces were still so close their lips almost touched.

_I love you Malcolm_ , Joshua thought. He gently took Malcolm's wrist, pulling the lieutenant's hand from his hair, then laced their fingers. Malcolm was watching him, his expression tender and his eyes like deep water. He brought Joshua's fingers to his lips.

_I love you_. But Joshua didn't say it, because he knew Malcolm couldn't say it back to him. He wondered if he ever would.

But still. Malcolm was here. He was with him. That was enough. It had to be enough.

It was something. It was a start.


End file.
